


Life Trips Along

by krissykane



Category: The Libertines
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 09:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4914253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krissykane/pseuds/krissykane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a little story detailing the innermost emotions of the grand Hyde Park reunion</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life Trips Along

**Author's Note:**

> old prompt, provided by my dearest French libertine: "here it was hyde park: the aftermath, after an epic concert and lots of agitation around them, they’re finally alone"

The crowd still roared, a close, deafening thunder in their ears. Carl couldn’t hear a thing, well, except Peter’s voice. His breathing was loud as well, tucked into his ear where Peter’s mouth was pressed close to the skin of his neck. Why was he so close to him? Not that it mattered anyway. Carl always liked when Peter stuck to him like his second skin. The same soul, split in half in two different bodies. That’s what Carl always thought they were anyway, and when they were so physically close to each other it was like he could hear his soul screaming out for Peter’s, and Carl wondered if Peter hear the same shrill scream of passionate terror inside his stomach whenever they were near each other. Carl still thought it was insane. When was he ever going to fall out of love with Peter? The answer seemed an inevitable never, and Carl was okay with that.

Still, the room buzzed with the aftermath of a monumental gig. Reading 2010 was something special but this was an altogether miracle, after Peter’s stints in rehab again, the trying and trying again of trying to be close. But Peter shacked himself up in Paris and Carl couldn’t leave Edie or Eli- no, he would never, so in London he stayed. Peter was always so close yet so far, four years of teetering between what should and could and will happen. Rumors spilled out, Carl let a journalist know too much, he got nostalgic over the internet and the fans ran rampant with speculation. It all seemed like a horror media show up until Peter met him for coffee at that little cafe in Camden, tucked away in the back corner in the shadows.

“It’s supposed to happen, right? We always come back to each other. We’re stuck together forever, you and me,” Peter said, dirty fingernails creeping along the tight white skin of Carl’s forearm, splayed against the table. Carl shivered as Peter’s fingers danced up his arm and brushed over his Libertine tattoo. “We’ll play again together, yeah? We’ll play a show. We’ll play many shows. We’ll get a great big house together and write great big beautiful songs and we’ll wake up in the mornings with the Mediterranean outside our window. We’ll go away again, alone, together. Then we’ll get Gary and John, how ‘bout it?”

And that’s how they got here. They never did get the great big house and they still hadn’t gotten around to writing great big songs because, well, Peter liked making promises he couldn’t keep. He kept the promise of doing some shows but mostly that was because once a promise was onto a binding contract, there wasn’t much Peter could do. Management took care of the shows. All Peter had to do was show up and as long as Carl was there, he would. That much Carl knew.

That funny little conversation that left Carl shivering is how they got here, with Gary laughing up a storm and John smiling harder than he’d ever smiled. Peter was still giggling into the nape of his neck, chest pressed against his back and Carl wriggled away to launch himself on John and Gary, pulling them in. “Hugs, Bilo!” he called to Peter, who looked morose for a beat before jumping into the hug. The Libertines held each other for a moment while the people around them cheered and screamed. The flash of camera bulbs went off and Carl tossed his sweaty hair back while Gary demanded drinks and John stumbled off towards his wife.

He was left with Peter again, who was just smiling at him. Well, he was staring too. Carl thought of how he should find Edie. She was probably somewhere close by but all he could think of was how happy Peter looked and how beautiful his smile was, all crooked and yellowed teeth. How could something so broken be so beautiful? So was that Peter Doherty was the great mystery of the world, and even though Carl had lived through his best and worst times, he still didn’t know what exactly made Peter tick. But he’d find out one day, he was sure of it.

The only other thing he was sure of was that he wanted to be alone with Peter, now. People were swarming in, journalists and photographers and vague friends he didn’t remember inviting but who were calling his name fondly all the same, shouting about a “bleedin’ legendary gig, mate!” and all that rubbish. Well, not rubbish, since it was true, but Peter was still staring at him. Eventually his eyes went wide with agitation as someone stepped into his view of Carl and out went Peter’s long arm, fingers grasping tightly onto Carl’s wrist. Then he was off, dragged behind by a laughing Peter who seemed to move at the speed of light- or at least this post-gig high made him feel like they were sailing out of the tent.

It wasn’t easy to escape, since Hyde Park was, well, a park. They had a lot of open spaces to cross. People were still milling around and pointing them out. Good thing Carl wasn’t wearing his red Libertines jacket or else they’d be entirely too easy to spot, but Peter was so tall and limber and flailing happily as they raced across the grass, hot wind blowing at their faces. Carl felt like a kid again. Peter always did that to him, Suddenly they were nineteen, running home to the Delaney Mansions, to all that beautiful mess of a life they made together. Where was Peter taking him?

Eventually Hyde Park became London again, packed streets of cars looking to pick up concert goers. “Fucking hell,” Peter grumbled, ducking behind a dumpster. Carl followed suit, to hide and to have an excuse to press close to Peter again. “We’ll never make it out alive at this rate!”

Carl ducked his head out the side and peered out, spotting a dark alleyway on the opposite side of the street. “There! C'mon, Peter!” This time Carl grabbed Peter by the hand and Peter wasted no time in tangling their fingers together. They hopped dangerously across the street tragic, cursing and laughing, eventually entering the dank and dirty alley Carl had spotted.

It smelled of rotten garbage but it was strangely quiet, despite the busy street being just right there. Carl kept walking slowly back until they hit a fence, not very tall but not so easily climbable. Just behind was an abandoned lot of rubbish with only the moonlight above providing light.

He could feel Peter smiling behind him. “You need a good hoist up, Biggles? I’ve got ya.”

“Oi! Careful now, I’m not as light as I look,” Carl said, shivering again as Peter took a tight hold of his waist. He stuck the toe of his boot in between the fence links and climbed up, using his arm strength until he was shifting another leg over the top. He sat on it a moment, staring down at Peter. “Ay, love! I can see the Eiffel Tower from here!”

“If you sing loud enough will the Queen hear you at ol’ Buckingham?”

“Ay, she may will. Shall we sing her the jolly old?”

“Ohhhh Brittania, oh Albion-ay, ohhhh,” Peter sang, giggling as he climbed up the fence. Carl wobbly went down the opposite way and hit the pavement with a relieved sigh.

He turned to see the mess they walked into. Really it was just an empty lot, well and truly empty, but it was surrounded on all sides by buildings save for three other alleyways that emptied out into the surrounding streets. It looked like the owners of the buildings left their junk out, so an amass of leftover furniture was scattered about. Peter immediately took to a plushy, moth-eaten green couch and threw himself upon it, coughing at the dust that had risen up. Carl crinkled his nose but still obediently followed Peter when he put his arms out and beckoned Carl to follow.

Then they were alone, well and truly alone. London was just a silk screen backdrop to this scene of theirs, one that will be a scrapbook memory in the future. Carl knew right before it started that he’d look back on this moment fondly, so he began treasuring every second before it even began. He took to memory the roundness of Peter’s face, the rosy, flushed cheeks, the tuffets of brown and gray hair that framed his face. The darkness of his eyes were so profound and Carl thought he would stare forever, and he well could, but not before he was abruptly shutting his eyes against the feeling of Peter’s lips on his.

It was only just a moment, a fleeing one that danced across the sky’s constellations. Peter fluttered back but kept close enough that Carl could feel him breathing on his face, just cigarette smoke. Peter’s voice was raw as he said, “we’re always back here. Always.”

“Mmm,” Carl agreed, moving forward an inch just to brush the tip of his nose against Peter’s. “It’s inevitable. We’re made for each other, aren’t we?”

Peter broke into a happy giggle. “Ah, yes, I believe we are, Mister Carlos. And aren’t we the absolute picture of true love?”

“Can’t think of a better picture, honestly.” Carl could hardly hear Peter above the racing of his heart.

His smile was sickeningly beautiful. “So… that gig. Wanna talk about it?”

“What’s there to say? It was perfect. Gary and John were perfect. The fans were perfect.”

“And what about me?” Peter still had the supernatural ability to bat his eyelashes and look as pretty as any girl on the street.

“You? Immeasurably perfect. You set the standard for perfection in this world.”

“Oh, stop it, Carlos, you great big sod,” Peter laughed, faking embarrassment, but even in the dim light Carl could see his blushing. A hand of Peter’s snaked down the front of Carl’s shirt, catching a bunch of fabric, holding him tight. “If you leave me again, I’ll die. You hear me?”

Once upon a time Peter had breathed that sentiment and Carl didn’t believe him. Then he found out Peter had slashed his arm open, trying to cut the Libertine tattoo out of his arm. Not that it was a suicide attempt or anything but Carl knew the extremes to which Peter was pushed to when it came to Carl, but these past experiences did not color Carl’s intense answer.

“I never left you, Peter. And you better fucking know that I never will.”

Their physical affection was never something they discussed. It always just happened naturally, like it was always meant to be. On that dingy couch they fell into each other, groping and holding, the mashing of teeth and biting of lips, breathing forever promises into each others throats and scratching salutes of dedication into each others arms. An ambulance blared past but Carl didn’t hear it, neither did Peter, because the sound of their harsh breathing was forever louder than any sound, louder than those fans screaming along to Music When The Lights Go Out, louder than Gary slamming his drums into hell, louder than John thumbing every bass string like a master. Louder than the universe was Carl and Peter’s love for each other, even though the next morning they might hate each other, even when they’ll accidentally fall asleep on that couch in the alley and wake up hours later, bleary-eyed. They’ll fight and argue over how stupid this was and Carl will call Edie on the phone, apologizing over and over and Peter will sit there and pretend he doesn’t care his best friend and the love of his life is married. He’ll pretend, Carl will still hush the “I love you"s to Edie so Peter won’t hear. They’ll glare at each other and huff their way back down the alley, but before they step back out into reality, Carl will ghost the back of his hand against the back of Peter’s and Peter will shiver, god, he will shiver. 

Carl’s skin was always his weakness.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are appreciated but thank you for reading!


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